Half-blood Heroes
by Lennox13
Summary: The time for secrets is done. During the Battle of Hogwarts, victory calls for a bit more than just magic. (Series of one-shots. Characters reimagined as demigods. The first chapter features Seamus, second has Blaise.)
1. Seamus

_Mam's a witch._

The statement that heralded the start of the rest of his life, kept echoing through Seamus' head as he hurriedly levitated explosives onto the bridge. He remembered how idiotically proud he'd been, how he'd told everyone he could that his mum, Brigid Finnigan, was the reason why he received his Hogwarts' letter at age 11.

_Mam's a witch._

It kept looping, repeating, because he had a feeling that the time to claim his true heritage was slowly drawing near. Secrets had become such an integral part of his identity, that the thought of admitting that he was more than just a half-blood wizard, was a frightening thought indeed.

Throughout his life, Seamus had been equal parts jealous and relieved of Harry Potter's presence. Yes, Harry Potter meant that nobody _noticed_ him, but also, it meant that _nobody_ noticed him. Although not a particularly gifted wizard, Seamus' affinity for fire warranted a more thorough investigation. Lucky for him, the professors had always been too busy running after Potter to notice how, without trying, things around Seamus caught fire. Or how, when things inadvertently blew up in his face, he never got burnt.

His mam was most certainly a witch. A witch, a wife, a mother… Brigid Finnegan was all that, and so, so much more.

"You good?" Ginny's voice carried from above.

Lost in his own thoughts, Seamus hadn't noticed that his job was very near completion. Hovering on his broom, explosive materials of various makes and models, borrowed and pinched from Snape's quarters and the Weasley's stash, clumped around the end and centre of the bridge. Blowing up the bridge was to be the first thrown rock against the army that rapidly approached. The thought made Seamus shake.

Fear? Anger? Apprehension?

All of his emotions twisted and knotted together in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah, mate. All good," he jerked his broom upwards, flying up to join his friends and the other students who had helped carry out all of the supplies.

"We should head back now," Ginny said, having taken charge of the sullen group of boys and girls.

Neville, knowing that this particular 'we' did not include him, nodded and offered a brave smile. "See you on the other side, guys." His breath hitched, but there was not a hint of a stutter.

They'd all grown up way too fast, Seamus thought as he observed his classmates who were all varying states of dirty, bedraggled, exhausted and terrified.

He tried to summon all the bravery that he could but found any difficult to muster and quickly gave up. Instead, he summoned anger to warm his belly. The emotion eagerly took root and bloomed, heating his blood and melting the anxious beast that had been sitting in his throat.

"Happen to have any fireworks left, ladies?" He tried, trying to force a grin and reassure the rest of the group. Nobody reacted to his comment and Seamus wasn't too sure that they had heard, but he didn't really care for an answer as he stared at Neville's lonely silhouette on the other side of the bridge.

His fellow Gryffindor's figure stood out starkly against the protective bubble that was visibly struggling against the onslaught of magic from You-Know-Who's army. Any second now, the shield would collapse and the battle, an actual battle, would begin.

He bounced on his toes a bit, every cell suddenly sparking with energy. The fire in his blood reached out to the nearby lit braziers and torches, the small smouldering flames sleeping in hearths throughout the castle, and to the sparking potential of the explosives waiting before him.

Something suddenly ripped through the air, hitting him with an unimaginable force.

"Agh!" Seamus groaned, clutching his head. The sound drove him to his knees and all he could do was wait as wave after wave of keening rent the air and wracked his body.

"Seamus! Seamus!"

Distantly, Seamus could hear his friends call his name, but their voices were no match for the absolutely horrific, ear-splitting scream of the Wailing Woman. _Bean sidhe_ – banshee. Her scream, heralding death, drowned out everything else. It was so unbelievably loud!

Unaffected by the sound that only Seamus could hear, his friends' faces drifted in and out of his watery vision. Death, so much death… Once the banshee had made her proclamation, there was no going back.

Who was it? How many of his friends were going to die?

Another commotion had caught the other's attention, and although Ginny's hand still rested on his shoulders, her gaze and those of the rest of the group were focused on the far end of the bridge. The shield had fallen and Neville was running, followed by a swarm of Death Eaters intent on fulfilling the Wailing Woman's prophecy. Trying to shake any lingering nausea and squinting through the pain, Seamus watched as Neville shot spell after spell to light the fuses. And he missed, and missed, and missed.

With a sickening jolt, Seamus realised that his gentle housemate wasn't going to make it.

Seamus didn't think. Not really.

The blood of his ancestors, still flowing thick through his veins, had him in a vice and instead of protesting and trying to control the sometimes utterly manic power that gripped him, Seamus Finnegan gave in to it.

Sloughing off years of secrecy and submission, he ran forward, fiery footprints left in his wake. As if from an impossible distance, Seamus saw Neville's eyes widen comically, as he drew near. "Run!" He demanded. "Run faster!" He shouted, pushing past Neville and facing the- his- _fuck it! – _Voldemort's army, head-on.

"Come and get me, you lily-livered guppies!" Seamus screamed, spittle flying. He stood at the centre of the bridge, eyes darkened with anger and unbridled power.

He saw the slight hitch in the lead man's step, who stupidly decided to continue on towards him. Because he was just a boy, right? A boy with unkempt hair, loose tie and a smudge of ash across his cheek.

Seamus watched as suspicion prickled in that man's gaze. He watched that suspicion turn into fear.

And as the man watched, Seamus smiled.

_Mam's a witch._

Spreading his arms wide, he let go. It was a relief, such a relief, like stretching a sore muscle or uncorking a stubborn bottle. It felt like a puzzle piece slipping into place as he released the power that was his birthright.

Because, yes, his mam was a witch. But she was also Brigid Finnegan, Brigid of the Tuatha Dé Danann, goddess of fire, the forge, healing and poetry.

With a shout, his power exploded from him, disintegrating the first row of Death Eaters almost instantaneously. Below his feet, the various materials ignited, exploding out into a massive conflagration of red heat and dazzling colour. Wings of flame stretched from behind Seamus as he rose above the carnage, watching with satisfaction as wizards burned and tumbled into the waiting depths of the black sea below. Wizards who had thought they could come into his house, his domain, and murder his friends, his family….

As if he would allow that.

Yes, his mam was a witch and as Seamus blazed above the glorious destruction he had wrought, he dedicated this battle to her.

* * *

**Personally, I'm proud.**

**Okay, so this one practically begged to be written, but I am planning a series of one-shots that may or may not be interconnected, featuring various characters being even more extraordinary than they usually are. I think most of these will take place during the last movie. ****I'm considering some of these characters: Luna, Neville, Draco, Cho, Blaise, Molly, Tonks, Remus, and Hermione. Ideas are welcome.**

**So, if you're keen for more, drop a review. Or if you have any critiques or comments, please let me know. **


	2. Blaise

The ground beneath his feet still seemed to shake from tremors past as Blaise walked across the battlefield. The reality of what had just transpired had yet to fully sink in. Hogwarts was supposed to be a safe place, a haven for people like him. He hated Voldemort for sullying his one escape.

Ashes drifted from the sky and the stink of blood and smoke hung heavy in the air. Breathing felt like gulping down wool, heavy and oppressive, but Blaise couldn't quite pinpoint whether the feeling was actually physical or if his emotions were merely manifesting in a way that his brain could comprehend.

Around him, people wandered. Most looked to be in similar states of shock and mourning. All of them were dirty and bloody. That made it more difficult than usual to tell which of them were dead and which were still among the living. Hogwarts was usually crowded with spirits, including those who had enough magical energy to manifest themselves and those who could not, but today the courtyards were devoid of most of the regulars. Because of his mother's affinity for the dead, Blaise had always been able to see the dead, and ghosts had always been attracted to him in some bizarre way. He guessed it was because they thought he would be able to give them peace. They weren't wrong, but his mother's halls were reserved for true believers and Viking kin. Blaise was sure that his mother would make an exception though if he allowed some of the more valiant wizards through.

He made his way to the next courtyard, but quickly moved on when he spotted the Morrigan and her crows inspecting the dead. Although his mum and the Morrigan were friends of sorts, he didn't want to talk to her right then. She'd probably tell his mum about the watery streaks staining his crusty cheeks. And he didn't want his mum to know he'd been crying about the dead.

Some things, like the sad prospect of mortality, she still didn't quite understand and likely never will. Some things simple weren't for gods to ponder on.

In the next part of the school he entered, where, a few months ago, he'd been helping to prank Gryffindor, even more of the dead waited. His breath hitched, trapped between his ribs, as he spotted the wraithy figure of Colin Creevey.

Shit, no.

How did the kid even get back into the school?

Who was going to have to tell his brother?

Heart breaking, because he wasn't a complete monster after all, Blaise walked up the small boy who looked confused, as most young spirits were. "Hey, kid," he said, at a total loss for words.

Colin looked up, startled, eyes wide. "You can see me?" His shape flickered before coming back into focus, a wide grin now spread across his face. "Then… that means- I'm not really dead!"

Blaise winced. The kid had always been way too excitable, more intrigued by the pranks pulled on him than upset by them. "I, I'm really sorry, Colin. You are dead." Blaise watched as the news sunk in.

"I don't understand." Colin's face was screwed up into a picture of perplexity. "How can you see me then?" Wearing his heart on his sleeve, metaphorically speaking,emotions flitted across his face as they occurred. Surprise, confusion, sadness, wonder. "Am I like Nick then?" he asked, referring to his House's ghost.

Blaise shook his head. "Not quite. It's complicated but I can see you because I can help you get to the afterlife, whichever one you prefer."

Colin looked ashamed and tried to kick at a rock, only to have his foot pass straight through. "My family is atheists, to be honest. I didn't really think about what's going to happened."

"That's okay. If you want, my mum will probably get you settled in. Despite the name, Viking Hel isn't half bad." Blaise tried a reassuring smile, but after years of wearing a mask of cool indifference and scorn, it was harder than it sounded. He probably looked like he was in pain. Or constipated.

The younger boy didn't seem to notice, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Is that the place with the Valkyries and stuff?" Colin asked.

Blaise was taken aback. Not a lot of people knew much of his mother's pantheon and their myths these days, so just that little misguided bit of fact sealed the deal. "No, but it's much better. Valhalla is mostly full of testosterone fuelled muscle-machines, with a lot of fighting for no good reason. Trust me, you wouldn't like it there."

Colin nodded sagely, seemingly trusting Blaise's opinion wholeheartedly. "Thank you, Blaise. You weren't a bad sort after all." And with that, he stepped forward and placed his hand on Blaise's shoulder.

An icy pain spread through Blaise, radiating from the point of contact and he felt Colin's life force pass through him, his own soul acting as a veritable portal to Hel.

_Please? Mum,_ Blaise sent along with the small mortal soul, feeling a wave of warmth, reassurance and relief in return. His mum would look after the kid and he'd help her later to sort out the paperwork to put a claim on the rest of the Creevey family's souls. After all, what was the afterlife without those you hold dearest?

Blaise also saw Lavender hovering nearby but at the sound of wingbeats, he quickly vacated the area. He was not on the best of terms with Thanatos.

He saw so many others, nameless students that he'd only ever seen but never spoken to and now felt guilty for it. He saw several Death Eaters as well but gave them wide berths. Vikings weren't big on punishment for past crimes, so he'd leave them to the other pantheons – they deserved to be judged and punished.

Violet, Thomas, Lana, Ned, Sam- Sar- Sama-, something with an 'S'. What was her name?

Blaise tried to remember but couldn't and gave the name up as more fuel to the guilt boiling away inside.

Across the way, he saw a man, wand in hand, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest. Uncertain whether he was dead or not, Blaise hesitantly approached.

"Professor?" Blaise choked out, shocked beyond belief.

Remus Lupin looked up, face weary but his eyes still sparked with curiosity, as he sat in silence in front of his own corpse. "Zabini? Are- How strange? You can see me." Professor Lupin mused, cogs visibly turning behind his eyes.

With Colin, it had been part pity that caused him to approach the boy. But faced with someone whom he had respected, Blaise felt awkward and off balance. "Sir, I," he started but didn't know how to carry on.

Professor Lupin shook his head slowly. "That's alright, Zabini. It wasn't your fault."

Swallowing hard, Blaise tried to steel his nerves. "Ah, yes, no, sir." He tried again, "If you want, sir, I could send you to my mum. I'm sure she'd make certain you all ended up together." The last addition was in reference to the woman lying next to the professor.

Professor Lupin winced and made a point not to look back at their bodies. "Thank you, Zabini. But I'm afraid my afterlife is already sorted." A pause, then, "Your mother, you say? Interesting…."

Recognition flashed across his professor's face and a breathy chuckle escaped. "That explains quite a bit, Zabini. It must be difficult to hold a husband when you are the personification of death."

Blaise winced at the reminder.

"I'm right then," Professor Lupin sounded mightily pleased with himself. "May I ask her name?"

"Hel, sir," Blaise admitted, begrudgingly.

Probably sensing his ex-student's embarrassment, Professor Lupin frowned. "Now, now, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Death is a natural part of life, necessary for keeping the balance. And it is times like this, especially, when your unique heritage could be most useful." Professor Lupin got to his feet, towering over Zabini; not necessarily in size but in spirit. "Look around you. There is suffering and pain, and you can offer relief." He pointed to a woman in a black garment, shallow breaths wheezing in and out of her lungs. "Regardless of whether they are good or bad, death doesn't judge; it simply is."

It took Blaise six steps to reach the woman. He could sense that her time had come. She gazed at him with wild and panicked eyes. Seeing the blood on her hands and splatted across her dress, Blaise felt revulsion beyond measure. She might have been responsible for Colin's death.

"Nobody deserves to suffer like this. She will get her due."

His professor's voice brought him back to the present, and with reluctance, he slowly reached out to her. Cold spread from his fingertips to the rest of his body as he eased her pain, and he sensed the woman's gratitude and regret. With a relieved sigh, she passed.

He didn't send her spirit to his mum, though, but left her in limbo where the other pantheons could lay claim to her soul. He hadn't seen Anubis in a while, so maybe she could be weighed against a feather, Blaise thought with a hint of satisfaction.

He turned back to his professor. "I'll do it to honour what the light fought for; nothing else," he said, nodding at the rest of the people whose deaths he could sense drawing near but might have hours of suffering ahead without him.

Professor Lupin radiated pride and satisfaction. Despite their shortcomings, he had always seen only the best in his students.

"Are you sure I can't pass you on to my mum? Hel is quite nice and not to be confused with that Christian place." Blaise shuddered at the thought.

Smiling kindly, professor Lupin shook his head. "I think my own mother might be quite upset if I ended up in another pantheon's afterlife."

* * *

**Review? Also, any ideas for a Hufflepuff student that I can use?**


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